


Handle With Care

by Apriel



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal, Body Worship, Bottom Steve, Comfort Sex, Dom Thor (Marvel), Fluff and Smut, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Object Insertion, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Self-Esteem Issues, Shy Steve Rogers, Sleepy Kisses, Tenderness, Thor is just a big carebear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 15:38:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15844287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apriel/pseuds/Apriel
Summary: Thor goes out to get his sleepy super soldier some breakfast and returns to find Steve taking a new approach to lifting Mjölnir~





	Handle With Care

**Author's Note:**

> there's a lot going on here lmao it was originally longer too but i had to cut loads out cuz it was like 6k ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

 

Waking up next to Steve Rogers is becoming a common thing for the demi-god. His friends would jest at how easily fixated he is with Midgard's inhabitants, but Thor has never been known to take an interest in anyone less than worthy, and there are few in any of the nine realms that are as worthy as Steve.

 

A fond, devoted smile plicates the edges of Thor's lips as he admires the sleeping soldier beside him. With all the delicacy he can manage, he reaches over to sweep away stray hairs obscuring Steve's face.

 

His hair is long now, grown out like his beard, and Thor loves to see it in a tussled state where their romantic throes have it escape the slicked-back mould Steve dons to keep it out of his eyes.

 

The strain of constant battle, internal and external, are starting to leave their marks on Steve though. Only visible up close and intimate like this of course, but the creases by his eyes are deeper from wincing, and the pleat between his brows is distinguishable even when he isn't frowning.

 

Thor traces the planes of his cheekbones with a coarse thumb, trying to be featherlight in his touch as he reads the hidden pain Steve keeps just under the surface.

 

He's too gentle a soul to be thrown into constant disarray the way he is. Steve is the type to never stop until he's made a difference, but in an ever-changing world where peace is so short-lived, the poor super soldier is never able to rest.

 

Captain America is tired. And it seems these days that even the lion-hearted kid from Brooklyn is running out of fight.

 

"Someone should have come to your rescue long ago, Steve Rogers," Thor murmurs. "You should not be fighting any more, you have paid your dues."

 

Of course, in Thor's mind it is _he_ who should have come to save Steve. Even after only recently becoming lovers, he readily takes responsibility for the other man's pain.

 

But Thor's heart is unwavering, and his shoulders strong. He has known and conquered his terrible losses, and he is honoured to take the weight of the world off his fragile little soldier's soul. Even if Steve will never permanently relinquish the responsibility he piles upon himself, it soothes both their minds to forget about the heaviness for just an evening in each other's arms.

 

Steve stirs, turning into the comfort of Thor's great big hand beside him, and the Asgardian king breaks into an even more adoring smile at the sight.

 

"Rest well, my love," Thor tenderly bestows, "I will be back as swiftly as the Midgardian morning allows."

 

Steve's face softens as Thor leaves him with a kiss to the forehead. Some potent, tranquil power transferred from his lips, setting his mind at ease and planting a sweet dream instead of the ruminations that haunt him in his sleep.

 

It doesn't cross Thor's own mind to take up Mjölnir, and so she is left faithfully on the bedsit along with their empty glasses from the night before, and several scattered papers that Steve had been mulling over in the comfort of Thor's embrace.

 

The sun is gradually making its daily debut over Brooklyn, trying to climb high enough to shine over the jungle of skyscrapers, but cutting through every now and then when there's a hedge between buildings and casting its golden light on Thor as he goes.

 

He still gets many looks from passersby. People of all walks who cannot tear their gaze off the demi-god. But Thor is always happy to stop for a selfie with enamoured young women or shake the hand of someone who recognises him. He is never without a smile.

 

The bakery is full, but not as full as he's seen it. He's made good time.

 

"Ah, ragazzo leone!" The butch owner greets him, extending both arms as he invites Thor up to the counter. His apron is covered in flour and his hands are that of a hard-working man.

 

"Mr. Rossi," Thor beams, allowing his face to be patted like some friendly steed.

 

The Italian family that run the place are all too familiar with Thor, and just the mention of his name brings the fleet flooding from the kitchen to gather round and greet him.

 

"What can I get you, signore?"

 

"Don't ask him!" Magna— the man's wife— butts in, bustling out of the kitchen and coming round to kiss Thor three times on the cheek. "He is getting too modest, look how skinny he has become!" she berates.

 

A complete overstatement in reference to Thor's physique, but as any mother would say, 'he's a growing boy.'

 

Thor can't exactly lay claim to that title any more given that he is a full-grown boy of roughly one thousand years, but her homeliness and generosity would have him eat the entire deli counter if it put her conscience at ease.

 

"You top him up with extra!" Magna instructs her husband with a warning wag of her finger, prompting him to shoo her back into the kitchen irritably as he scoffs in Italian.

 

She threatens him with a backhand, but then they laugh, and Thor is reassured that their antics are nothing but that of a long-married couple whose equally strong wills are what's kept them in love for all this time.

 

He briefly entertains the idea then, that perhaps he and Steve could be that way. It's on no rare occasion that the memory of the super soldier getting Mjölnir to budge during their contest at Stark tower crosses his mind, and more recently the vision of Steve as his queen proceeds it.

 

"Two coffees?" Mr. Rossi presumes.

 

"Ah, just one. Make the other..." he frowns as he questions the ceiling for a name, "—one egg cream—" it finally comes to him, prompting a snap of his fingers.

 

He makes a point to remember the things Steve claims to be his favourite, while also taking responsibility to manage his caffeine intake. Coffee doesn't blend quite as smoothly with Steve's anxiety as it does with a shot of vanilla.

 

The sun has finally reached the perfect point to flood into Steve's third floor apartment, and the warm light that curls around him wakes the well-rested hero as he stretches and yawns.

 

"Thor?" he calls out with only mild inquisition, locking his arms above his head as he straightens his back and exhales.

 

There's never been a morning to follow a night with Thor where he hasn't felt both physically exhausted and like he's just had the sleep of his life— more so than his seventy years in the ice.

 

But there's also never been a morning where he's woken to find himself not in the arms of the thunder god.

 

"Thor?" He calls again, a little more questioning this time.

 

Unlike him to just up and go, Steve prepares to get up and investigate, but just as he's swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he catches sight of Mjölnir...

 

Thor makes his way back with the sun kissing his golden locks, cardboard drinks tray in one hand and overstuffed paper bag in the other. He smiles brightly at all who catch his gaze, and almost giddily goes up the steps to the complex.

 

He hurries up both flights as nimbly as he can, knowing his footfalls would wake anyone else. His breath barely catches even after he's made it to the top, and his stealth holds for as long as it takes him to quietly enter, but Steve wouldn't have heard him anyway... not with the sound of panting and moaning coming from the bedroom.

 

Thor frowns, a smirk croocking the corner of his mouth as he sets their breakfast down on the kitchen counter and treads steadily toward the ajar bedroom door.

 

The sight that greets him changes his expression altogether. He finds himself with his tongue in his cheek and his brows raised; assuming, as he folds his arms and leans on the door frame, just watching.

 

"Ah~ oh— oh fuck," Steve whimpers to himself, as he squats near the edge of the table taking the handle of Mjölnir up his ass in quick, sheepish thrusts.

 

As the hammer remains rocksteady on the coffee table it is up to Steve to be flexible. He can just about hold himself at the right angle but the tension it puts on his thighs has them trembling and him gasping and grabbing the edge of the surface between his legs.

 

He reaches behind with his other hand to keep rolling lube onto the handle, and it's all very cute until Thor decides to make his presence known. Then it becomes fucking adorable.

 

"You missed my presence that much, little one?" he observes with a smug and gravelly taunt.

 

"Thor!" Steve halts himself, turning sheet white in horror before his modesty catches up and a feverish flourish of colour floods his cheeks. "H-how long have you been standing there?" he whispers, as if afraid to learn the answer.

 

"Long enough," Thor grins, loving this display of innocence and modesty come pouring out of Steve. The blissful pink that had tinged his cheeks earlier has flared up into a rouge of pure embarrassment, but he looks delicious and chaste even in this predicament. 

 

"I'm sorry, I w—"

 

"Shhh-sh-sh-sh, stay put, little one," Thor utters, taking Steve's weight as he lifts himself clear of the handle. "You mustn't stop. Let me give you a hand," he offers, his lips close to Steve's ear as he kisses down his neck.

 

Taking Steve over his left arm, Thor runs his right hand down a pert little ass and finds easy entry for his middle finger.

 

"Mh~" Steve lilts, gripping at Thor's shirt as he slowly eases himself up to stand on his own. He's grown unused to being smaller than anyone else now, but to have to cant his head in order to meet Thor's gaze gives Steve a feeling which is surprisingly the opposite of intimidation.

 

He feels admiration. Admiration for this huge, _powerful_ man that could crush even a super soldier. A man with every means to be a bully and a dictator, but who instead is filled with love and appreciation and tenderness.

 

What Steve sees in Thor are the very things he's longed to be himself, but now he finds that maybe what he wants the most isn't to be the strong one.

 

Now, all he can see himself longing for is a fragment of his past; a figure that would cherish him in weakness, in sickness, and respect him regardless of how big or small or brave or frightened he is.

 

When Steve is with Thor, he doesn't have to prove a damn thing. He doesn't have to be Captain America, or an Avenger. He's just Steve Rogers from Brooklyn. And if the son of Odin can love him at his most vulnerable, then maybe he never needed to change at all. He's always been worthy.

 

"Rogers," Thor whispers, noting how the other man's demeanour has changed; how he clings to him like he's afraid and how the dewdrops of quiet tears dapple his chest. "Steve," he tries again, "does that hurt you?"

 

Steve shakes his head and sighs a fluttery moan as Thor circles his prostate, slowly mounting his leg on the thunder god's hip to take him deeper.

 

"It feels good," he breathes.

 

Shy, maybe, but Steve is nothing when it comes to sex if not gluttonous.

 

" _That_ good, I see," Thor smiles, thumbing away a rogue tear on Steve's jawline and kissing away the fresh ones before they can fall.

 

Steve smiles too, eyes still closed as he rests against Thor; his chest as pillowy and expansive as their bed, but warmer and with a soothing heartbeat that has Steve lulling into the lazy morning sex.

 

"Will you continue with your little exhibition for me, my treasure?" Thor entices, using the tips of his middle and forefingers to give Steve a nice stretch.

 

Steve opens his eyes slowly, like he's restarting his morning being greeted by the sunlight, but as it should have been, with Thor beside him.

 

"You looked rather magnificent polishing the handle of Mjölnir like that," Thor purrs.

 

"D-damn," Steve laughs breathily, "I'm never gunna' get the chance to ask if you kiss your mother with that mouth... yer one smooth talker."

 

"You might ask what other things I do with my mouth," the thunder god croons, nipping Steve behind the ear and down to his bare shoulder.

 

Steve bites his lip and moans, growing bold as he starts to rub up against the harsh denim of Thor's jeans.

 

Thor chuckles— a gesture of praise that hatches butterflies in Steve's tummy. He isn't confident when it comes to being flirtatious, but any kind of positive feedback from Thor makes him insensible.

 

"S-so you wanna'... see me ride your hammer again, big guy?" the super soldier mumbles.

 

The tone is there but his delivery betrays how straight-laced he is. Nevertheless Thor encourages him with a grin, reaching over for Mjölnir and letting the lube-slicked handle slip from his grasp and fall to a new place on the floor.

 

Steve looks down at the hammer and then back up at Thor, hitching an eyebrow to appear challenging.

 

"Y'know," Steve drawls as he backs off from Thor and slowly gets to his knees, "it might be nice if ya' didn't have yer shirt on."

 

"You're giving me orders?" Thor tests with an otherwise condoning nod of his head.

 

Steve tries to suppress his smirk, but it only serves to make him look more boyish.

 

"Maybe I am. What of it? I'm a captain, don't forget."

 

"What's a captain to a king?" Thor goads, raising his head to make his chin more pronounced as he starts to remove his shirt regardless.

 

"How about a queen?" Steve suggests, knowing full-well there's something in Thor that will leap at the prospect of ever taking Steve as his bride. It's certainly something that gets discussed often enough.

 

The god of thunder laughs and sits down on the bed.

 

"You needn't stall, my eyes won't leave you... my _queen_ ," he promises.

 

" _Fuck_ ," Steve hisses, rolling his shoulders to try and shake off the heat around his neck. "I wish I didn't like that," he mutters.

 

He shuffles back slowly then, making eye contact with Thor and trying to send him a message of seriousness despite the blush on his cheeks and the nervous way his bottom lip hangs away from his teeth.

 

Thor only makes it worse by leaning forward onto one knee, legs squarely apart in an unconscious display of dominance as he props his head up on his closed fist and watches Steve right back. His deep-set eyes glimmer with hunger and as if to exacerbate the sentiment, his tongue runs smoothly along his own bottom lip as Steve breaks eye-contact and huffs at the floor.

 

"You watchin'?" he unnecessarily tries to affirm, looking up with a half-concealed smoulder.

 

"I'm watching," Thor assures.

 

Steve nods and gives an awkward smile, trying to talk himself into it.

 

Fucking himself on Mjölnir was one thing when he was alone and it gave him a rush for being scandalous and daring, but doing it on _purpose_ in front of Thor seems like an entirely different experience.

 

"Steve," Thor speaks up, noticing his apprehension, "it's al—"

 

"I can't," Steve says with an apologetic wince, baying his head disappointedly. "I'm sorry, I'm—"

 

"Shy. I know," Thor reassures; his tone even and unchanging in volume. "It's alright. Besides," he goes on, rising gracefully and helping his little soldier to his feet, "our breakfast is waiting."

 

Steve blinks at him then breaks into a disbelieving smile. "You got us breakfast?"

 

Thor smiles in a much less evocative way, earnest and pleased with himself as he takes up Mjölnir and points with her toward the kitchen.

 

Steve goes first, his tight little ass dimpled and taught as he struts away. Thor watches every inch of movement; from the way lube shimmers inside Steve's thighs to the way his own plaid shirt hangs off his muscular body. It's surprising that Steve can't fill the garment being only _just_ slighter than Thor himself.

 

Steve looks back with a hint of, 'hey, I'm impressed,' as he is about to help himself to a pastry, but Thor can't resist helping himself to something of Steve.

 

He places Mjölnir on the counter right next to them, and then grabs both of Steve's arms, deterring him from opening the bag. His huge hands just about close around the entirety of Steve's biceps.

 

"Hey, w—"

 

Thor stunts the makings of a protest with a firm kiss, catching Steve completely off-guard as he stands stiff with his eyebrows raised, allowing himself to be taken.

 

"S-sorry... did you want the danish?" he smirks, his cheeks turning rosy again after Thor breaks the kiss and eyes him with desire.

 

"No, just you," the Asgardian giant says in a lusty croak.

 

Steve is about to speak again but only manages a half-berating stutter as he's lifted off the ground by the backs of his thighs; Thor's powerful grip pressing dimples into the flesh.

 

The cold of the granite counter makes Steve gasp and laugh at Thor, who smirks at the satisfying clap that comes from Steve's bare butt cushioning about 230 pounds of super soldier on a rock hard surface. Though Steve's laughing cuts short abruptly and transpires into an accidentally very wanton groan as Thor starts palming his bare cock.

 

Steve fidgets back, grasping Thor's wrist where he holds his quickly hardening member and tenses his shoulders as he gapes.

 

"Oh~ not so— not so hard," he implores, "it's sensitive, Thor!"

 

"Hm," the thunder god chuckles with a crooked smile, "all of you is, wouldn't you say?"

 

Steve opens his eyes and bows his head foreward. He wants to argue, but he doesn't have any grounds to do so. Thor is right, a punk though he is, Steve is a sensitive soul.

 

"Shut up, thunderhead," the plucky super soldier defers, initiating a brave lip-lock and daring to slip his tongue in.

 

Thor smiles into the kiss, adoring of how even when Steve tries his darnedest to be bold, it's still as chaste as ever.

 

"Little one," the golden giant hushes, drawing back with clear sensitivity to Steve's novice kissing skills by lessening the break with several tender kisses everywhere else.

 

"Like this, my love. Let me show you," he offers.

 

Steve slumps a little, feeling less pressure to lead as Thor takes the reins. He opens himself up, completely unreserved as Thor kisses him, forcing him into blissful submission as his head tilts down and Steve's tilts up.

 

There's something about being herded; having his big body turned supple and slight, wilting under the touch of something— someone greater and more domineering.

 

Never in his youth did he long to be held like this or shaped like this. He would have done anything back then to assert himself; make his worth and his strength and his masculinity _unquestionable_.

 

But now, even in a body so undeniably strong, Steve longs for the safety and comfort that could be found in fragility. Of being cared for and being swayed so effortlessly by someone bigger.

 

"I— mh! _Thor_ ," Steve huffs, embarrassed and enthused all at once by the knowledge that just being kissed like this is making his cock swell, and that Thor can feel it happening in his hand. "I'm—"

 

"Beautiful," Thor finishes for him. "You're beautiful, Steve Rogers."

 

Steve stops trying to talk. Thor knows what he wants to say, and it's doesn't need to be said outloud. So Steve nods and smiles in that earnest way; modest as he huffs a nervous laugh and tries not to tear up.

 

"Hm?" Thor coaxes for a reply with a nuzzle, kissing his way down Steve's neck.

 

Steve nods again. He can't agree. A lifetime of never having been wanted by anyone in such a way makes it hard for him to respond to that kind of sentiment. But he believes Thor when he says it, and it's enough that he thinks it of him.

 

It's enough to finally feel worthy without having to prove himself.

 

"Thanks," Steve breathes, taking his turn at kissing again following Thor's example.

 

"Good, that's the way," Thor assures, a lazy, love-drunk tone in his voice as he studies the worry lines on Steve's face in close proximity.

 

Steve tracks Thor's gaze as it meanders from wrinkle to freckle and settles on his lips, and then their kissing grows impassioned.

 

They break apart less often and grip harder until Steve is rubbing himself against Thor through his jeans, _grinding_ and _gasping_ and _gripping_ and _grounding_ until Thor has had enough. He hooks his arms under the backs of Steve's knees and lifts him effortlessly.

 

Steve pants again, his mouth agape and his forehead pressed to Thor's as a wordless exclamation leaves his breath and his hands try to encompass the monument of Thor's head.

 

"Relax for me, princess." That's all Thor needs to say to have Steve's total compliance. The super soldier's gentle face and kind eyes go misty with anticipation and he lets out a heady moan, his fingers flexing for purchase in the cropped hair at the trunk of Thor's neck.

 

"Oh, god!" Steve gasps as he feels the familiar press of Mjölnir's handle against his perineum. "I've... really started something here, haven't I?" he laments.

 

His eyelids flutter and he clings a little harder when Thor successfully positions him right over Mjölnir.

 

"Thor!" Steve gasps, helpless to stop his greedy little pucker from swallowing the leather-bound handle as it slips inside him without his control.

 

Holding all of Steve's weight is no task for Thor's strength, but what does make his breath catch is the focus it takes him to ensure he's lowering Steve at just the right pace.

 

Each exhale wavers as he lets out a low grunt every time he lifts the super soldier up off the handle, but he's rewarded with a delicious sound in return as Steve's ass envelops Mjölnir right to her hilt.

 

He starts slow; nice and easy to get those long, low, breathy sounds out of Steve. He can just imagine how hot his little hole must be getting— how cute and red and swollen it will be after it's clasped around each ridge of Mjölnir's handle over and over.

 

"Not so shy now, hey, little one?" Thor muses, injecting some more humility into the blushing Cap as he pants and bites his lip.

 

"Ah! R-right there!" Steve cries as Thor catches his prostate with an accidental adjustment in angle.

 

"There?" the thunder god smiles, buoying Steve with expert control— short and quick— continuously catching Steve's prostate over and over.

 

Steve starts to drawl, his head thrown back and his neck on full display as he clings to Thor and moans. And Thor can do nothing else but fuck his little super soldier on his hammer, and grin at the sight of it.

 

Steve's rosy cheeks and sweat-beaded brow, and the way his toes curl with pleasure delight the golden god. It is his own great pleasure to make Steve feel so good.

 

He drags his tongue down the powerful line of Steve's neck, temptingly unguarded by the usual modesty of his high collared costume, and aims to leave a holy mark that would surely make the bashful soldier blush the next day.

 

But such an insignia would remind Steve who he belongs to, and let that warmth of being possessed coil in his belly, his coarse fingers tracing the purplish bruise reverently.

 

Steve's weeping cock ruts against Thor's pecs as he's bounced up and down; the sweat and precum making him glide between the two firm muscles beautifully.

 

Thor lifting him, even as quickly and repetitively as this, must be little more than lightweight training. It feels so good; the friction, the sensation of being in such a hubris state of pleasure that Steve couldn't care if the whole world was watching him now.

 

He's never felt more liberated than when he's exploring himself with Thor.

 

"Nh~ Tho~r!" Steve groans, gritting his teeth as all the muscles in his face tighten to form a needy, desperate, _pleading_ expression.

 

"That's it, my treasure. Let go. Come for me," Thor coaxes.

 

And Steve does. All over himself and Thor. He groans long and deep and laboured. His cock sways as he spurts several times, and keeps going until it's just a long dribbling string of translucent nectar.

 

His breaths are heavy; both of theirs are, though Thor's are heavy with laughter while Steve's are more akin to great, heaving pants of blissful relief.

 

Thor lets him down slowly, sitting him back on the counter beside Mjölnir rather than on it. Steve doesn't have the strength to sit up alone though, so Thor holds him for a while, just kissing and mouthing at him in ownership as Steve breathes through the drowsy bliss of his afterglow.

 

"How was that, my love? Just what you needed?" Thor smirks, his breath tickling Steve's skin and making his hair stand on end as he tightens his arms around Thor's broad neck.

 

"Yeah... jus' what I needed," he agrees. His face is still red and streaked with sweat, but his rosy lips are curved into the most content smile, and his long eyelashes kiss the apples of his cheeks as he smothers himself in the clavicle of Thor's neck and shoulder.

 

"I feel good," he purrs.

 

**Author's Note:**

> in case y'all wonderin,,yes, mjolnir does budge when steve first takes a seat _(:3 」∠)_


End file.
